What We Deserve
by vasey7
Summary: May goes on a date, and Peter doesn't know how to feel. A one-shot.


The crisp fall air flowing through the window was a reminder to Peter that tonight was the perfect night for patrolling, unlike last night when an unexpected rain shower poured down, soaking his spandex suit and creating less-than-ideal swinging conditions. If there was a creator of the universe, he was evil and enjoyed mocking the young vigilante. Tonight he should be out there, stopping the next mugging and apprehending those pesky pick-pocketers that were profiting off of individuals on the corner of 75th and Austin. Well, okay he didn't know for sure there were pick-pocketers there or even anything happening but he imagined that's what's happening at this very minute he is just sitting here, flipping through the channels, a nervous energy coursing through his veins.

In fact, not only were the conditions perfect for him outside to patrol, but usually when he feels this pent up there is nothing better than dodging some blows and webbing up some baddies, or as MJ called them "misguided victims of the American industrial prison system." It gave him something to focus on, but not tonight. Tonight he was staying in. He couldn't get himself to leave. Aunt May had left the apartment no less than 7 minutes ago. This was going to be a long night.

" _Just… don't think about it."_ He told himself, his leg bouncing up and down as if it were trying to escape. Fighting every urge to put on the suit and follow her, he tucked his shaking leg under himself. That was the real problem. If he put on the suit, he was 100% going to end up outside of that new Dutch-Vietnamese place in Astoria. He could feel the pull right this second. Aunt May would be pretty pissed though, and he was already on such a short leash ever since she found him in his red and blue getup. That had not been a pleasant conversation—if you can even call it a conversation. It was more just one person yelling, and another desperately pleading forgiveness. No prizes for guessing who did what.

No, he was going to sit here and watch this new show Netflix kept telling him to watch (along with every person in his homeroom) and he was going to order pizza just like May told him to.

Checking the time again, he swore aloud. Only 90 more seconds had passed.

Now with the pizza ordered, and 10 minutes into an admittedly not-terrible show, his mind started wandering again.

 _A knock at his door had startled him, but only because he hadn't really remembered shutting it. He was too focused on his American history report to even know how long he'd been locked away._

" _Peter, can we talk?" May's soft voice sounding even softer as it filtered through his door. From his spot against the wall he didn't even have to stand to unlock and open the door._

 _May came in and sat on his bed, moving his backpack and leaning over to quiet the classical music Peter used to concentrate. Peter's heart started pounding his in chest. "Can we talk" were words that were never followed by good words. The entire English speaking community of the world had all but agreed that you only use those words when you are about to drop some unpleasant news. "Can we talk" was bad._

 _Peter swiveled in his chair to face her, his hands now fidgeting together._

" _What's up?" He tried to sound relaxed and unconcerned but he knew his aunt could read him like a book, like an old worn out book with a creased spine and a tiny bit of water damage._

 _Aunt May narrowed her eyes and started worrying her lip. This was Aunt May's tell. If his aunt could read him like a book, he could read her too. She was nervous about what she was going to say. She was uncomfortable too._

" _You know John, that new guy I was talking to you about. He just started at my office."_ _Peter drew a blank._

" _You know, he's the one that helped me jump start my car last week." She paused. "I told you his brother works for Oscorp?" Peter's eyes widened._

" _Oh yeah, I remember now." May hadn't mentioned much about this guy but he remembered thinking it was weird that she was talking about him at all._

" _Well, he…" she paused, drawing in a deep breath. "He's asked me to go to dinner with him on Friday." Peter stared quietly back at her. "And I said yes."_

This shouldn't have really come as a surprise to Peter. Every man in New York was charmed by her, even before Uncle Ben died. May had always drawn attention from men—from an unearthly combination of good looks and an incomparable sweet nature. She was incredible, and people noticed. Sure May had a swarm of men after her, but she had never expressed any interest in them, waving them off as nice people who occasionally forgot to bill them for their larb salads or let her sit on a crowded rush hour subway car.

Peter had told her it was fine, and that he was happy if she's happy, though it had come out sounding flat and unlike him. It was just that, it was so strange to be moving forward. Of course May and Peter had been moving forward since Ben, they had to but in some ways, things had stayed the same. Sometimes it was as if Ben was away on a really, really long business trip and his absence wasn't that weird. He would be back. Sometimes on Sunday mornings, Peter could pretend that when he got out of bed his uncle would be in the kitchen, mixing pancake batter and listening to the oldies station. Ben had been a real sucker for Motown music, Stevie Wonder in particular. Ben and May would dance to him when they thought Peter didn't see, or if they just had too many glasses of red wine after a night on the town.

Peter had sent May off for the night, telling her he was just going to have a quiet night in but now in the stillness of the apartment his heart hurt. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

It had been nearly a year since Ben. All at once it felt like no time had passed and an eternity. Peter still had dreams of bullets raining down on his uncle, blood pooling beneath him, Peter waking up in cold sweats and crying until the sun came up. He was far from okay though he tried hard to appear like he was.

Ben had been his father's brother. Bonded in the inextricable magical way only DNA can connect you, they were family. Ben had raised him. It was Ben who helped pick up the pieces after his parents died, even though he suffered that terrible loss as well. Maybe even more so since Ben had all but helped raise Richard too. Peter would never know. He never got to ask Ben what it was like for him, being a kid too myopic in his own pain. Life was going on without Ben and it was cutting to his nephew's core. Peter felt his eyes sting. He hadn't wanted to cry. The show playing in front of him was not the cry-inducing type and the pizza delivery person would be here any second, but thinking that May should be trying this new trendy restaurant with Ben, not with some guy named John, was like he took a punch to the gut. Ben deserved to be there, eating green and pink curry and fries dipped in peanut sauce or whatever. And it was all Peter's fault that he wasn't.

More tears fell, and Peter didn't wipe them away. The fifteen year old brought his knees up to his chest, making himself impossibly small on the couch Ben once sat on. He felt miserable, just like he should. This is what he deserved. Then he thought of May.

If there was anyone in the world who deserved happiness it was his aunt. He wanted to be happy for her, he really did. But he didn't feel happy for her, which only made him feel worse. His aunt who gave the best hugs, and who had been the one to teach him how to tie his shoes (when Ben had all but lost hope in his uncoordinated nephew, telling him maybe they should stick to Velcro sneakers a bit longer) and eventually helped him tie his windsor knot for Homecoming (when Ben wasn't around to do it). She and Ben, as far as Peter knew, never really put it into their plans to have kids. They were much too into their own Bohemian, spontaneous lifestyle, content with babysitting for Richard and Mary every so often. They enjoyed jetting off to Montauk for a weekend, unbothered and untethered, spending too long at brunch with friends on a Sunday and mocking their friends with children who came to work on Monday unrested. Peter had changed all that for them and he knew it. They did it so happily and without complaint. They hadn't planned to be parents and then it happened so quickly. And they were Peter's parents in all by name. Peter could barely remember Mary and Richard. The memories he thought he had usually came from home videos and pictures, stories he heard from his aunt and uncle.

And then just like another punch to the gut, it hit him. May had been alongside Ben every step of the way. May was like his mom. His mom who would cry at night, when she thought Peter couldn't hear her. His mom who had been madly in love with Ben, knowing Ben years and years and years before Peter even existed. Peter never got to ask Ben what it was like for him after his brother died, and he was doing the same thing with his aunt. Peter was suffering, but so was May, and in ways he could never understand. And somehow in spite of all of her pain she was opening up herself so that she might find some happiness again. Maybe this John guy won't stick around, or maybe he will but if May was trying to feel a little better, Peter should cheer her on. They both wouldn't feel truly happy again for god knows how long, but they definitely would never reach it if they never tried.

Peter unfolded his legs from underneath him just as he heard the buzz from the apartment lobby. The pizza person was here.

When Peter opened the pizza, he realized he had accidentally selected green olives instead of black ones, and had totally forgotten to put sausage on it.

Ben would have said "that's some real Parker luck right there."

And May would have quipped "it's not Parker luck, just the Parker men, and their Parker heads."

Peter would have laughed, and he did, thinking about his aunt and his uncle, and how lucky he was to have been raised by them both.

He might have become Spider-Man because of what happened to Ben, but he was Spider-Man because of the man his parents raised him to be, who Ben and May raised him to be.

May tiptoed back into the apartment. The lights were all off save for the glow of the TV, casting a dim light on her fifteen year old nephew, who looked even younger sprawled out asleep on their old green couch. She sighed. The poor kid worked way too hard. He deserved a peaceful night in, a night to himself. Sitting at his feet, she lifted the top of the pizza box.

" _Green olives?"_ She thought, biting into the cold slice. "Not bad." She mumbled, taking another bite and switching the channel. "Not bad at all." It hadn't been a bad night at all.


End file.
